


Always Remembered

by FB Wickersham (perpetfic)



Series: The Blue Stones [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: AIDS crisis, Based on True Events, F/F, Female Lead, Gen, Magic, Supernatural - Freeform, The Blue Stones, relationship implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 05:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11730342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/FB%20Wickersham
Summary: Hazel gets a call to check out a sudden ghost bloom in a cemetery down in Arkansas.





	Always Remembered

**Author's Note:**

> Warning that this story talks honestly about how people were abandoned by their families in the 1980s AIDS crisis, so there is discussion of the homophobia common at the time. The story is not all tragedy, but tragedy is a part of it.

Hazel knew she was dreaming. Dream recognition was taught from day one to day graduation at the House. Too many previous Aunties had gotten into fights in dreams and blown magic through the walls of the House.

She was on a lawn, the light bright, her movements sluggish. Behind her, there was a rat-dragon. It was running at normal speed, and it was seven feet tall. Hazel prepared to punch it in the chest, knowing as she pulled back her arm that her swing would come slow and at half-force.

The sharp trill of her cell phone jerked her awake, and she sat up in bed, immediately alert. Her roommate didn’t even budge, and Hazel was grateful that Lauren slept so hard Hazel had to rattle her whole bedframe to wake her up for fire alarms. It was not fun in the moment of the fire alarm, but it definitely helped Hazel not feel guilty when she got a Blue Stones call in the middle of the night.

 _AUNTIE_ the caller ID read as Hazel knew it would. No one else would call at fuck-you in the morning (the clock on the shared microwave read 3:27; Hazel tried not to think of her 8:00 class).

“Jesus, what?” Hazel answered halfway through the second trill.

“Language,” Auntie Tessa replied. She had the overnight, apparently. “You need to get to Arkansas.”

“I have a quiz on irregular verbs tomorrow.”

“What time?”

“Nine.”

“Do you have to stay for the whole class?”

“Technically, yes, but I can cry at the beginning and explain there’s a hospital scare in the family.”

“I’ll arrange a few text messages. I’m sending Gretel along to help. She’ll meet you at the location I’ll text you.”

Auntie Tessa’s strict language rules weren’t Hazel’s thing, but her casual inclusion of Gretel absolutely was. Hazel didn’t know how Auntie Tessa had figured things out, but she was the only Auntie who always assigned Gretel when ghost back up was deemed necessary., so Hazel knew she knew.

“Get back to sleep,” Auntie Tessa said. “We’ve never had a Blue Stone with lower than a B-average.”

“You’ve also never had a double-major Blue Stone,” Hazel grumbled. They said their goodbyes, and Hazel curled back up under the covers.

“Passionfruit,” Lauren said, then turned on her side away from Hazel.

“Passionfruit,” Hazel agreed, and dropped back off to sleep.

*

Hazel sat on a toilet in the women’s room on the third floor of Craig Hall and rubbed her eyes until they felt raw. She brought up tears by sniffing hard at a vial of pepper from her backpack. When she walked into the classroom, the professor wasn’t there, so Hazel started the act with her classmates.

“Are you okay?” asked Mackenzie, a helpful type who thought everyone’s pronunciation was _such good effort_. She had perfect scores on oral exams and honestly thought everyone else could match her.

“It’s…” Hazel swallowed hard and held out her phone. She watched Mackenzie’s eyes widen as she read the text messages Auntie Tessa had planted. “I just want to get through my quiz,” Hazel said.

“You should go,” Mackenzie replied, handing the phone back with both hands and squeezing Hazel’s wrists when she reached for it. “I can explain for you.”

“No. This is the one thing I can do today, you know? I need to.”

Mackenzie’s gaze slipped from sympathy to sympathy and a dark understanding. Hazel felt a stab of self-loathing for lying to her. Mackenzie had been through something; the set of her mouth told the story clear enough.

“I’m here for you,” Mackenzie said. She squeezed Hazel’s wrists again. “My e-mail’s visible on Blackboard. You can email me anytime, okay?”

“Sure,” Hazel replied, and the tears weren’t false. She preferred to keep her Blue Stone status close to her chest, though they were commonly known. Lauren knew, but Hazel hadn't shared with her casual friends from class. The way Mackenzie was watching her, her jaw hard, gave Hazel a flash of understanding of why other Blue Stones made their status common knowledge. Magic was more powerful the more people who believed in you and wanted to help.

“ _Bonjour!_ “ the professor shouted as she walked into the room, and Hazel switched into mild trickery mode. She approached the professor as she settled her ledger and the pile of quizzes and showed her the texts.

“You can make up the quiz,” the professor offered.

“I’d rather take care of it. One less thing. If things were worsening, they’d tell me,” Hazel replied, and she did not have to fake the quiver in her voice. She hadn’t heard from either of her parents in two years, not since her dad's severe stomach pains had turned out to be gallstones.

“If you would like a re-test, I'll allow it,” the professor said.

Hazel sat back down and accepted the quiz when it was held out to her. It took her ten minutes to fill it out. She left the room with both the professor and Mackenzie looking after her with worried eyes.

She didn't call the House until she was in her car, away from anyone who might see her change in demeanor and wonder what was happening. Auntie Louise answered. “I have the address,” Hazel said. “What are the details?”

“Your phone better be docked,” Auntie Louise replied. Where Auntie Tessa worried about language, Auntie Louise worried about hands-free conversation.

“Hold on,” Hazel grumbled. She docked her phone and turned down the stereo to prevent feedback. “Okay. I am totally hands-free. Why the hell am I driving to Hot Springs?”

“You’re meeting Naomi Kirk,” Auntie Louise said, and it was only good training that kept Hazel from slamming on her brakes in surprise.

“The Arkansas Angel? From Real History with Auntie Lena?”

“Yes. She went to lay flowers at the graves yesterday, and she saw a ghost bloom. She couldn’t get any of them to notice her, so she called Auntie Lena.”

“How does she know about Auntie Lena?”

“Auntie Lena did field research during the AIDS epidemic. Naomi Kirk sent a Hope Flare so high, Auntie Lena went and met her.”

Hazel turned left at the light and concentrated on merging into the left lane before she spoke. “Has she had a ghost bloom before?”

“No. She checked death dates and birthdates and what anniversaries she knew for the people buried there, but nothing is matching up for so many suddenly being out and about.” Auntie Louise sighed, a signal she was at a loss. “Be careful, sweetheart. We don’t know how many of them will turn vengeful at a stranger.”

“I’ll send Gretel in first. Spirit rarely gets roused by spirit.”

Auntie Louise hummed in approval. “Good thought. Take a lap and let us know what you think.”

*

What Hazel thought upon arrival at the unmarked cemetery was that Naomi Kirk should be nine feet tall and made of flames, not a shortish, fit-ish, middle-aged woman worried about the spirits who had suddenly sprung to being.

“They haven’t moved all this time,” Naomi said, her accent reminding Hazel that she owed her grandmother a call. “I know some of them went to their graves without their families, but it’s never caused them to jump up like this.”

Hazel surveyed the cemetery. There were no headstones, only small grave markers with names and dates. The grass was clipped. There were small bushes on the edges, blooming with little pink flowers. Spirits sometimes popped up from neglect, but that clearly wasn’t happening here, even without headstones. The three dozen spirits wandering the grounds were speaking to each other or looking at their own headstones or looking at Naomi.

“Where did you lay flowers yesterday?” Hazel asked.

“There,” Naomi Kirk said, pointing towards the third row. “I buried them as they passed, so I lay flowers the same way. But they didn’t all die on the same day or even in the same week. It’s just my system for making sure I spend time with them. Every week, one row gets flowers.”

“And they were cremated? All of them?”

“That’s right.”

Hazel shook her head. Cremation was supposed to mean the end of hauntings. Spirits needed bones or heirlooms to hold on, and Hazel knew from Auntie Lena’s class there were no heirlooms to hold anyone here. “This isn’t right.”

“They’re not vengeful,” Naomi said, and there was steel in her voice. She was ready to fight. Hazel wanted to hug her.

“They’d have taken my head clean off if they were,” Hazel replied instead. “But I don’t know why they’re milling around.”

Naomi turned, her cane planted firmly as she settled her feet. “Am I going to die?”

Hazel considered it. “I don’t know. It’s best to wait for Gretel.”

Naomi gave a harrumph of displeasure. “How are you here, but she can’t be? Why is she only getting here this evening?”

Hazel rolled back her shoulders and forced them into a relaxed position. “Let’s go inside. I can explain while I make you some tea.”

*

Gretel arrived as sundown began. She stepped down from her horse, Charlotte, and surveyed the spirits wandering the graveyard. “There’s no vengeance here,” she said to Hazel.

“I know,” Hazel replied. They had different ways of feeling it, but Hazel knew Gretel was right. The air didn't shimmer with danger for Hazel, and Gretel’s presence didn't cause a sudden screaming of spirits.

Gretel looked at Naomi and offered a smile. “A pleasure, Ms. Kirk.”

Naomi gave Gretel a small nod. “And you, Gretel,” she said.

Gretel looked at Hazel and held out a hand. Hazel reached out in return. Her hand passed through Gretel’s as it always did. Hazel wished, as always, it didn’t. “Let me see what I can find out,” Gretel said, and she stepped over the threshold of the cemetery.

“Your partner really is a ghost. I thought you were pulling my leg,” Naomi said.

“She’s not my partner,” Hazel said and pushed down the tightness in her chest. If any of the spirits were waiting for an emotional spike to start a fight, she wouldn’t give it to them. “She works with various Blue Stones as needed. The Aunties sent her here because spirits tend to be most comfortable around other spirits.”

“That makes sense. I assume spirits don’t judge other spirits.”

“No, they don’t,” Hazel replied.

They both watched as Gretel worked her way through the ranks of the spirits in the cemetery. Hazel was prepared to step in and defend Gretel if anyone flashed danger, but the emotional wave off the spirits was benign. They were confused, Hazel realized as she took apart the emotions one at a time.

“Do you tell them about the world?” Hazel asked Naomi as Gretel leaned in to hear a man who seemed to talk only in a rasp.

“Some of them, yes.”

“Not all of them?”

“I remember them all as people,” Naomi said, straightening her back as she announced it. “I know some of them wouldn’t be happy with what’s happening today; it’d be too hard for them to handle after what they went through.”

Hazel looked at Naomi, realization a sharp sensation down low in her stomach. “What did you tell the third row?”

“Nothing in general. I _remember_ them,” Naomi said with the hard conviction of having lived through a time when that wasn’t true for all the men buried in front of her.

Hazel took a deep breath to give herself a moment to think. “What modern information did you tell someone in the third row?”

Naomi waved her cane in the general direction of the third row. “I talked about net neutrality. John and Martin were interested in computer technology. I mentioned the latest food trend to Travis; he wrote restaurant reviews. I told Larry and Kevin that the latest attempt to collapse equal marriage had failed.”

Hazel scanned the crowd of spirits, feeling her instinct poking at her like a cranky toddler urging a reaction. “Okay. What did Larry and Kevin do?”

“They were lawyers.”

Hazel’s instinct slammed into her ribs. “You buried men here whose companions took care of them to the last day.”

“Yes.” Naomi sucked in a breath and surveyed the group of spirits still wandering the cemetery. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, you poor dears.”

“What are you thinking, Naomi?”

“Oh,” Naomi said again, and tears ran down her face. “My dear men.” She walked into the cemetery and stood just off-center of the first row. “Gay men can be married now,” she announced in a clear voice that sounded like a bell. “Gay couples can be married now. All over the country. All of it. The Supreme Court said so.”

All the spirits in the cemetery—save Gretel—turned to stare at Naomi. She walked between them all, her cane as sure as her soul. She stopped in front of each of them and called them by name. She told them that their companions were still theirs. She told them to seek them out, to let go of the last feelings of shame or fear that kept them from looking. She told them they were still loved by her and certainly by their men.  
The spirits faded, one by one. They were serene and pleased. A few were strong enough to thank Naomi for the news, to thank her for her work, to wrap her in their wandering mist like a hug. In the end, there was only one man left.

“Michael,” Naomi greeted him as Hazel watched from a distance, Gretel a cool dampness at her side.

“I only had you,” Michael said. “I wanted a husband, but I only had you.”

“I only had you, too,” Naomi replied, “and we made each other laugh.”

Michael smiled, sad and proud at the same time. He reached out, and his hand drifted through Naomi’s hair like mist. “Thank you,” he said.

“You were my family,” Naomi replied. “It was the least I could do.”

Michael faded away, and Naomi hung her head.

Hazel crossed the threshold of the cemetery and put an arm around Naomi’s shoulders. “They died, but you saved them,” she said. “They left this world loved.”

Naomi shook her head and ran her forearm across her eyes. “They deserved their families.”

“No,” Hazel said, “they deserved you.” She turned them both towards the cemetery exit. “They sprang up because you gave them news so good they woke up to hear it. That’s not a simple feat. Most spirits stay down in the best of news. Hell, Tesla should have popped up for having a car named after him, but there’s nothing from his grave. He’s dead and gone. But those men you helped and loved? They sprouted up because you put such hope in them they were certain there was confusion. That’s a gift.”

Naomi shook her head as she and Hazel stepped out of the cemetery proper. She looked at Gretel, who met her gaze evenly. “What did they say to you?”

“They wanted to know it was true that they could get married now, but none of them trusted me,” Gretel replied. “I was about to turn around and come get you when you made the announcement.” She smiled and reached out her hand. “You made them so happy, Naomi. You gave them comfort when they died, and you confirmed the best news they could hope to hear in death. They love you to this day.”

“I love them,” Naomi replied. She looked over her shoulder at the quiet cemetery. “They were all good men. I wish their families were willing to know that.”

“Me, too,” Hazel agreed. She looked at Gretel, and Gretel nodded, her jaw firm. “But you knew it, and that gave them peace.”

Naomi turned away from the cemetery again and looked from Hazel to Gretel. “I'm sure you can’t drink coffee,” Naomi said to Gretel, and Gretel gave a rueful shake of her head, “but you’re still welcome if Hazel wants a cup.”

“I would love a cup,” Hazel replied.

Naomi led the way on the narrow dirt path that stretched between the house and the graveyard. Gretel reached out her hand as the trees parted and revealed the house in a clearing, and her fingers were a shivery coolness against Hazel’s palm.

“Gretel,” Hazel breathed, uncertain how to bring up the truth she felt between them. That Gretel loved her, too.

“I love the smell of coffee,” Gretel replied, and there was a sadness in her smile Hazel had no words to make better.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The work of Naomi Kirk is based on the real life work of Ruth Coker Burks, who showed a depth of compassion and humanity that was sorely lacking in a lot of places during the AIDS crisis. You can read some more on her here: https://www.arktimes.com/arkansas/ruth-coker-burks-the-cemetery-angel/Content?oid=3602959 
> 
> 2\. Blue Stones aren't a secret, but they also don't get an excused absence from class for sudden ghost blooms. Hence, occasional lying. 
> 
> 3\. Yes, that's bittersweet Hazel/Gretel, but again, I don't write tragic queers. They will be okay.


End file.
